


Moi, Bonnie- je tremble pour Clyde Barrow

by HarveyWallbanger



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, This is beyond self-indulgent, Unwanted Sexual Advances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: Anticlimax.





	Moi, Bonnie- je tremble pour Clyde Barrow

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from the song, Bonnie and Clyde, by Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot. It takes place within the continuity of "This Is What You Want... This Is What You Get".  
> Thank you, as always, to Millicent Cordelia, for your kindness and support.  
> I am not involved in the production of Gotham, and this school is not involved in the production of Gotham. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

It’s like one of those firecrackers that you buy on the side of the road. The guy selling them has a lot of flashy signs, and the firecrackers have really interesting names like “White Lightning” and “The Wrecker”, and they come from far away places that you aren’t even sure exist. So, you give the guy your money, and get ready to, I don’t know, scare the shit out of some old ladies, and what happens?  
When you light the damn thing, it just spits at you. It should… take out an eye; blow off a finger. Something, anything- just to let you know that something happened. Something was supposed to happen, right? How are you supposed to know that it did, if it doesn’t leave a mark?  
Oh, sure, there’s a lot of action, as a lot of noisy strangers push their way into Arkham. There’s a shoot-out between those people and the guards, and then the inmates get involved, and Jerome’s standing two feet away from a guy who’s shot and whose head just kind of cracks open, and that’s something-- but then someone from the outside, someone small and quiet in glasses, rushes up out of nowhere to Oswald-  
Oswald seems more surprised than anything.  
“Mr. Penn?” Oswald says, shocked, but also kind of disappointed.  
“Please come with me, Mr. Cobblepot,” Penn says, glancing over his shoulder at the guards, thugs, and inmates.  
Jerome looks at the little scene, and then at Oswald and Penn, already ducking away toward a door that has suddenly opened. Everyone who’s not fighting is hiding, or watching the action. No one is looking at Oswald and Penn- or at Jerome, for that matter. It’s like the three of them have been rendered invisible. It’s like they’re going out of this world and into another. Jerome smiles. Hey- that’s kind of like dying.  
Before they can protest, Jerome’s coming up behind them. “So, where are we going?” he asks.  
Penn looks at Oswald.  
“I’ll explain later on,” Oswald says, rolling his eyes.  
Then, they’re outside, in the gray winter air, a light snow falling, the sounds of police cars in the distance. The cold bleeds into Jerome’s uniform like water, and he’s just beginning to enjoy the feeling of the chill tickling his bare skin, when Oswald snaps, “Get in, if you’re coming with us.” Smiling, Jerome leaps into the back of the van. Oswald and Penn, now wearing winter coats, are both back there. Who’s driving this thing? Jerome grins.  
But then, it gets really boring, really quickly. There, in the dark, quiet van, which isn’t even going that fast, Oswald starts asking Penn a lot of questions, in that quick, biting voice, about people that Jerome knows or has heard Oswald mention, but doesn’t care about. Sofia had Penn tortured; she thinks that he’s working for her. Victor’s working for Sofia, and Barbara, Tabitha and Selina are working for Sofia, and Jim’s working for Sofia--  
“Blah, blah, blah,” Jerome says, “Who is this Sofia, anyway? God?”  
Oswald smacks him. With an audible intake of air, Penn frowns. He looks kind of like one of the stiffs that the cult played around with at the circus, that magical night that now seems so long ago. It makes Jerome feel- he doesn’t know- kind of like Penn is familiar, like a chair in your room, or something like that. It’s just a chair, but it’s your chair. You wouldn’t want someone else to sit in it. Smiling, Jerome rubs at his face, then puts out his hand. “We haven’t been introduced. My name’s Jerome.”  
Penn takes his hand, shakes it gently. “How do you do?”  
“Mr. Penn, huh? That come with a first name?”  
Penn looks at Oswald.  
“Shut up, Jerome,” Oswald says, and then, Jerome’s forgotten.  
“Wake me when someone gets murdered,” Jerome mutters, then curls up and tries to sleep. The cold that thrilled him before now annoys. The movement of the van makes him think of trying to sleep while the circus was traveling. A new city, a new place, somewhere else where no one knew him and he would be forgotten as soon as they took their eyes off of him. If anyone saw him at all. When he was exiled from the trailer, once he was old enough to get in the way, he walked for hours among the crowd on the midway. The few other kids in the circus worked with their families. Sometimes, he’d see some of the many Graysons, but they didn’t see him. One of the younger ones smiled at him once, but then one of the older ones fake-whispered ‘Trash’. Over time, being invisible started to feel safe-- but you never really lose it. The desire to be seen. Even though it hurts. Even if you don’t want it, some part of you still does.  
Jerome’s not even sure that he sleeps, but he knows that he dreams. He dreams that everyone is searching for him. At first, it’s fun, hiding. It’s exhilarating. It’s only his own cleverness that ensures his continuing freedom, but he knows that, inevitably, as clever as he is, he’ll be caught. It makes him reckless. He starts provoking his pursuers. That’s when he realizes the truth: they just can’t see him. They’re just too stupid, he tells himself, but he knows.  
It’s not something about them; it’s something about him.  
After they cross the border, Oswald shakes him awake. They get out to stretch their legs, and Oswald shoots the driver. Sighing, Penn goes through the man’s pockets. Then, Penn goes into the back of the van and comes out without his coat on, wearing a rubber apron, rubber gloves that go up to his elbows and a sort of gas mask, holding a large brown bottle.  
“You may want to look away,” Penn says to Jerome.  
“No way!” Jerome says, but Oswald grabs his arm and pulls him out of Penn’s way. Whatever is in the bottle makes the man’s flesh smoke and dissolve. Sullenly, Oswald smokes a cigarette as Penn sees to the remains of the remains, and changes the van’s license plate.  
Penn drives the rest of the way, to a big, old house far from anything else.  
“This property belonged to Don Falcone,” Penn tells Oswald, “As far as I know, Sofia isn’t aware of its existence. Officially, it was seized by the Canadian police, but unofficially, it’s leased to the GCPD- in name only. Don Falcone retained ownership. I don’t think that we should remain here any longer than is absolutely necessary.”  
“That’s fine,” Oswald says, “This place is a dump.”  
“No one’s lived here in some time,” Penn says apologetically, “I made it as comfortable as possible, but I had to work quickly, without being seen.”  
“Fine,” Oswald says, and waves his hand.  
“I have clothing for you. I’m afraid that I don’t have anything for Jerome- but I didn’t anticipate his presence.”  
“No one ever does,” Jerome says.  
“I’ll find something for you,” Penn says.  
“No rush. I’m kind of used to the stripes.”  
Penn looks at Oswald.  
“He’s joking,” Oswald says, “He thinks he’s hilarious.”  
“I am hilarious.”  
“Find him something, would you,” Oswald tells Penn, “Where’s my room?”  
“I’ll take you there. There’s another bedroom. I can make it up for Jerome.”  
“Oh, why don’t we all just sleep together?” Jerome says, “It’ll be fun.”  
“Shut up, Jerome, or you can sleep outside,” Oswald says. His voice is tired. He doesn’t even really sound angry.  
So, Jerome pushes. “Think how I feel? You two all warm and cozy together, and me, all alone...”  
“There are enough bedrooms for everyone,” Mr. Penn says, “It’s a large house.”  
Oswald’s rubbing his brow with his knuckle. “It’s a damn palace. Just… take me to my room. You can deal with Jerome later.”  
“If you’ll excuse us,” Penn says, and he and Oswald go upstairs. No one tells him not to, so Jerome follows. Penn shows Oswald to his room, opens the bathroom door and turns on the light. Would Oswald like Penn to run him a bath? Oswald nods, and Jerome watches from the doorway as Penn takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. They’re like people posing for a painting- Jerome leaning on the door frame; Oswald standing by the tub, watching it fill; Penn sitting on the edge, adjusting the temperature- until the tub is full.  
“I’ll lay out your clothes,” Penn says to Oswald, and moves past Jerome. It’s with barely any venom that Oswald tells Jerome to get out. Oswald closes the door. Jerome rattles the knob. It’s locked.  
“Like you have anything I haven’t seen before,” Jerome calls from the other side of the door. There’s no reply. He watches Penn put Oswald’s clothes on the bed.  
“Even his underwear, huh?” Jerome says.  
“Mr. Cobblepot is tired. I want to make things as easy for him as possible.”  
“That’s so sweet of you.”  
“It’s my job,” Penn says, but the way he says it doesn’t make it sound like it’s something that he has to do.  
He shows Jerome to the room next to Oswald’s. “It’s a bit smaller, I’m afraid” Penn says.  
“Oh, it’s cozy,” Jerome says, and drops himself onto the bed. “So, where do you sleep?”  
“I have a room down the hall. If you need anything, you can find me there.”  
“Day or night?”  
Penn frowns.  
“What’s he got that I don’t?”  
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m going to look for some clothing that might fit you. I’ll be right back.” He closes the door behind him.  
Jerome sits on the bed, stares at the door, and waits for Penn. What’s going to happen? Now that they’re where no one can find them, is Oswald going to shoot Jerome, have Penn dispose of his body? If Oswald wanted to do that, is there much that Jerome could do to stop him? Kind of a downer, dying in the woods, far away from everything. No one would ever find his body.  
Or maybe they would.  
Maybe, one day, someone would put it all together. Come all the way up here, like in a movie about a treasure hunt. By then, they could clone him. They wouldn’t even need his whole body. If they brought him back again, this time, from something pulled from his old bones, would he remember this? If you clone a brain, do you clone its memories, or just the way that it makes them? Is that future Jerome still Jerome, or is he some other guy? Are they going to be disappointed, when they’re stuck with a big baby who doesn’t remember what it’s like to kill someone, who doesn’t even want to find out?  
It’s better to just stay alive. Better than some part of you waking up in the future, not even knowing that it’s you. He’ll just have to make sure that he kills Oswald before Oswald can kill him. Maybe he’ll keep Mr. Penn, though. Kind of like a magician’s assistant. Maybe Mr. Penn is Mr. Penn no matter who he’s working for- like the cells that are Jerome aren’t really Jerome but are still Jerome. Mr. Penn doesn’t belong to Oswald, but he’s always Mr. Penn, and he always remembers what it is to be Mr. Penn. He’ll be putting out clothes for Jerome, on Jerome’s bed. He’ll be telling somebody that Jerome is tired, and he wants to make things easy for Jerome. He’ll be doing all of the things that he does for Oswald, for Jerome.  
Penn returns with some clothing. “I hope these fit,” he says. He frowns. “They belonged to Don Falcone’s son. When we return to Gotham, of course, you’ll have more freedom to choose.”  
“Oh, everything looks good on me,” Jerome says, holding up the shirt that Penn brought him. He begins unbuttoning his uniform.  
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Penn says, backing out of the room.  
“What? You don’t want to watch? The face might be a mess, but the rest is just fine.”  
Penn says nothing, and closes the door behind him.  
When he’s dressed, Jerome walks around the room. There’s nothing to look at, not even a magazine. There’s a vent, though, in the wall between his room and Oswald’s. If Jerome is lucky…  
He gets up on a chair, and fiddles with the vent. It sings rustily, then coughs open. Framed in the vent, off center but totally visible, is Oswald’s bed. The clothes are still as Penn arranged them, so Oswald must not yet have gotten out of the bathtub. Jerome watches for a while. It should be boring, but it’s not, because he’s waiting for something.  
Oswald appears, wearing a bathrobe. There are a bottle and glass on the bedside table, and Oswald pours a drink. Lying on the bed, he sips it. When he’s finished, he sighs and gets up. He takes off the robe, and slowly gets dressed. Jerome frowns. It’s more fun when you see someone naked because they’re taking off their clothes. Jerome continues to watch until Oswald puts on on his pants, and then gets down from the chair.  
After dinner, Jerome says that he’s tired, and goes to his room. Even though Oswald’s not in his room yet, Jerome settles himself in, in front of the vent. A while later, Oswald comes into the room, followed by Penn. Jerome leans in, expecting to see some really weird stuff, but all that happens is that Penn kneels by the side of the bed, and takes off Oswald’s shoes for him. Then, he stands by the side of the bed while Oswald takes off his pants and lies down. Lies down like he’s sleeping, frowning, his eyes closed. Penn sits down, and massages Oswald’s legs, from knee to ankle. Slowly, Oswald stops frowning, though his face in repose looks only slightly less severe. It goes on for a long time, Oswald’s breathing gradually becoming soft and regular.  
Penn is standing up slowly when Oswald says, “I’m not asleep.”  
“Oh,” says Penn.  
“Well, go on,” Oswald says irritably.  
“What shall I do?”  
“Use your imagination, Mr. Penn. Jesus Christ.”  
Penn kisses Oswald, Oswald leaning up into him, his hand on the back of Penn’s neck. Penn’s touching Oswald’s face, then kissing his face, then his mouth again. Like he was holding something in for a long time, Oswald sighs as Penn gets on top of him, still kissing him. That’s all they do, for a long time, their arms wrapped around each other, Penn’s hands on Oswald’s face. One of them is whispering something.  
Gross.  
Still, it’s not like there’s anything on TV. Penn undresses Oswald, but keeps his own clothes on, which is… kind of weird. It’s like something a john would do, or it means that Penn has something to hide. Maybe under his clothes, he’s like some of the people at the circus. Not the freaks like Lilah, who were only freaks because of the things they did, but the real ones, the ones who couldn’t help it. They were always the best at minding their own business, and Jerome hated them for it. Then, later on, when he was older, he sometimes understood. Minding your own business was like being invisible in a way, and Jerome knew what it was like when everyone was looking at you, because of something you couldn’t hide, and all you wanted was to never be seen again. Maybe that explains Penn. Why he even feels like he has to hide his name.  
Or maybe Penn’s only a freak because of something he does, and this is what that is. Maybe it only works for him if he keeps his clothes on. That, in a way, is also being invisible. Maybe he somehow knows that Jerome’s watching them. Maybe that gets him off, but only if it’s like Oswald’s fucking a ghost, someone invisible, someone who isn’t there. Then, it’s sort of like Oswald’s fucking himself. Jerome can sort of appreciate that. Oswald’s pale- like a ghost- like an animal that lives in a cave and never sees the sun. Even at a distance, the veins in his arms stand out, navy blue. Jerome’s tasted Oswald’s blood. That sort of makes them all vampires, then, and not ghosts.  
Penn kisses him everywhere, like what he really wants is to eat Oswald alive, but he’s kind of shy about it. Yeah- vampires. He jerks Oswald off, while he’s still kissing him, until Oswald starts looking like he’s going to come. After that, Penn sucks him off. He lets Oswald come in his mouth. He doesn’t spit it out. That’s not weird, but it is- it is weird, because of the way that it makes Jerome feel sort of sick, which just makes it better. He feels sick, but he feels warm, and he’s starting to hurt a little bit, from both the sickness and the warmth, and he wants to see more. He resigns himself to jerking off- but not yet. Not until it hurts too much not to. Then, he won’t have a choice.  
Penn says something to Oswald that Jerome can’t hear, but he does hear Oswald’s response: “No,” Oswald says, then smiles in a way that’s not exactly nice but not exactly mean, “I want to watch.”  
Penn lies down next to Oswald, and Jerome has to change his position to see better, which is annoying. It takes him out of the story, makes him think too much about himself.  
Slowly, Penn undoes his pants, slips his hand inside.  
“Pull them down,” Oswald says irritably.  
Even like this, Jerome can’t see much of Penn. It doesn’t matter, because it’s obvious what Penn’s doing. This is definitely weird, Jerome thinks, some of the disappointment lifting. All that lovey-dovey stuff is boring- like when they throw it into a sex show just to spin it out and get you to pay to keep watching. This is kind of like looking at someone’s guts. When it’s someone doing it to themself, then you see what they’re really made of, the kinds of things they like to feel. Some people just rush through it, like pissing or shitting. Then, some people really get into it, like they’re imagining someone else watching. Some people like to feel weird stuff when they’re doing it. Some people like it to hurt. Penn knows that Oswald’s watching, so everything he’s doing is really for Oswald. Sometimes, you think that someone’s doing it to themself like they wish they were doing it to someone else, but you don’t have to guess this time.  
By now, it hurts Jerome, so it must hurt Penn, too. It doesn’t look like he’s going to be finished anytime soon, which is good. Sometimes, even when he feels like he has to get off, it takes Jerome a while. The feeling of urgency just sizzles away, and then, if he keeps doing it, it’s almost to spite his body, which always demands so much with so little reason. Once he starts, though, Jerome knows that it’s going to be over soon. He’s looking at Oswald, still naked, lying on his side, watching Penn, no expression on his face. He’s watching Penn, Penn’s body moving as though he were in a trance. He looks at Oswald’s cock, now soft, and Oswald’s mouth, neither smiling nor frowning. He looks at Penn’s hand, at his hips, at his flushed throat and open mouth.  
“Could I...” Penn begins.  
“Could you what?” Oswald asks.  
“May I kiss your knees?”  
Oswald laughs, but it’s not a mean laugh. “Yes, Mr. Penn, you may kiss my knees.”  
Clumsily, Penn turns himself around, kneels by Oswald, bends at the waist. Making a helpless little sound, he touches his mouth to Oswald’s knees, first one, then the other. He does it again and again, and then presses his face into them, stays like that, with his ass in the air. He still has his hand on his cock, but Jerome can’t see it from this angle. It’s actually better this way, because he can see up Penn’s ass, which he didn’t think would happen. He can see Penn’s asshole, and he can’t see Penn come, but he can hear him, his breathing, muffled by Oswald’s legs.  
Jerome shoots against the wall. He has to cram his fingers into his mouth to stay quiet. It must be this good because he hasn’t done it in a long time. He can’t remember the last time he did, which probably means that it was before he died. Then, he remembers, without meaning to, that the last time was in Theo Galavan’s bed, and he feels kind of sick again, the way he sometimes does after he gets off, but worse. Sick, and cold, and naked. So, he makes himself focus on Penn slowly getting up on his knees. His face is red, and Oswald’s thighs are red where Penn had his face. Oswald lies still, watching impassively as Penn wipes the tip of his cock with a handkerchief, pulls up his pants. Penn goes to the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth. He cleans the come off of Oswald’s thigh, then frowns, looking at the stain on the sheets.  
“Shall I strip the bed?” he asks.  
“No,” Oswald says, “You can sleep on this side.” Then, Oswald gets up, walks around to the other side of the bed. Jerome watches Penn watching Oswald. Penn’s mouth is open.  
Penn clears his throat. “Shall I- would you like me to sleep in the nude?”  
Oswald’s lying on his side, arranging a pillow between his knees. Jerome frowns. Oswald’s kind of like an old person. Absently, Oswald smiles. It’s the smile that isn’t nice, but isn’t mean. “I think you should.”  
For a moment, Penn holds his hand at the center of his chest, like he’s going to faint, but then, he starts taking off his clothes. This isn’t weird, and it’s not sexy, either, but it’s still kind of fun to watch. Even naked, Oswald doesn’t really look naked. You can do whatever you want to him, and he just looks kind of angry. Penn looks naked, though. It makes Jerome want to hurt him, because he’s so pale, and he’s so thin, and all the sex is wrung out of him, now. His body is just plain and blank and soft. It makes Jerome sort of want to hold him, too, like a cat, or something. Like something small and stupid and soft. Maybe hurt him, but not enough to kill him. Not even really hurt him, not permanently. Just play with him a little. Penn wouldn’t know that Jerome wasn’t going to kill him. He’d look up at Jerome with his big, liquid eyes, and even as Jerome just held him, he’d still be scared. He’d never stop being scared, his heart beating like a rabbit’s, no matter how much Jerome petted him. They always tell you to picture the audience naked when you’re on stage. From now on, Jerome’s going to be thinking of Mr. Penn.

Eventually, Jerome climbs down from the chair, goes to bed fully dressed. When he wakes in the morning, it’s to an unpleasant ache. There’s a wet spot on the front of his underwear. He gets up on the chair again, and looks through the vent. Oswald’s still asleep, sprawled across most of the bed, but Penn is gone. Jerome looks at Oswald for a while, half of Oswald’s body uncovered, thinks about getting into bed next to him, turning Oswald onto his side, wrapping around him from behind, yanking the pillow out from between Oswald’s knees. He’d push his cock up against Oswald’s ass, and jerk Oswald off. Half asleep, Oswald would think that it was Penn. Then, when Oswald turned around, Jerome would laugh and laugh.  
This time, the sick feeling is less, but Jerome still stays in his room for a long time. He’s not ready for anyone to see him yet. When he does go downstairs, he finds Penn alone in the kitchen. Penn turns around, looking first surprised then disappointed. Then, he looks sort of ashamed of himself, and he smiles gently. “Good morning, Jerome,” he says, “Would you like me to make you something for breakfast?”  
Jerome thinks for a moment, and then says yes, just because he can. As Penn’s looking through the cupboards, listing Jerome’s options, Jerome comes up behind him, slips his hands down Penn’s body. Penn stiffens up. Not in the fun way.  
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I think I’m doing?” Jerome asks. He’d like to whisper it in Penn’s ear, but Jerome’s mouth is above the top of Penn’s head.  
“I know what you’re doing,” Penn says. He doesn’t sound scared or angry.  
“Of course you do. Sophisticated older man like you. Isn’t this the kind of thing you’re into? ‘I was seduced by a juvenile delinquent’?”  
Penn clears his throat. “That’s not a particular fantasy of mine.”  
“Oh,” Jerome says, and turns Penn around, “maybe you like to do the seducing. Boys like me need a firm hand. If you wanted to, I could call you ‘Daddy’. My mother was such a slut, for all I know, you could be my daddy. Ever visit the circus, Mr. Penn?”  
“I’m sorry, Jerome,” Penn says, and he does, actually, sound sorry. It’s… weird. Jerome frowns. “I’m sorry,” Penn continues, “but I’m not interested in you, in that way.”  
“It’s the face, isn’t it?” Jerome sighs.  
“Mr. Cobblepot told me about what was done to you. It’s a terrible thing.”  
“Yeah. Now, I’ll never be in pictures.”  
Penn frowns. “I mean that the pain must have been considerable.”  
“Oh, that. It was nothing. You have your face rearranged by your mother’s boyfriends a few times, and it changes your perspective on things.”  
“I’m so sorry,” Penn says again. It’s kind of like listening to a hypnotist. His voice is so soft. It makes you want to fall asleep, like you could fall asleep inside of his voice. It would pick you up, like a hand, hold you like you were a small animal. It could crush you, and you wouldn’t even notice, you’d be in so deep.  
“Touch it, if you want.” Before Penn can say anything, Jerome takes Penn’s hand, holds it against his face. Just to see what will happen, Jerome takes his hand away. For a second, Penn’s hand lingers, touches him softly.  
“About you and Oswald,” Jerome says, “Do you just really, really, really want a raise?”  
For the first time, Penn looks sort of embarrassed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Penn says.  
“Do you have a thing for knees, in general, or just his?”  
Now, Penn blushes. Under Jerome’s hand, his skin is hot. He tries to turn away, but Jerome moves his head back. “Why, Mr. Penn, you feel a bit feverish. Maybe I should put you to bed.”  
Penn says nothing. Now, he looks- not scared. He looks sad. Not sad. Something else. There are too many feelings. Too many things that don’t have names, or even a place in real life. Like a dream, they exist only once, for only one purpose, and then, they evaporate. “So, what do you say?” Jerome asks, just so that someone will say something.  
“It’s not personal,” Penn says, “but I truly don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”  
“Your heart beats only for him, huh?”  
“I suppose that it does,” Penn sounds kind of sad when he says it. Kind of sad, but not entirely. Like he’s happy about it, too.  
“I don’t get it.” Jerome’s not sure what he’s referring to. Any of what Penn says or does, all of it.  
“It may be that you will, when you get older.”  
“Na,” Jerome says, with a kind of… sadness of his own, that surprises him. He almost sounds like Penn. “I died when I was eighteen. If I don’t die again, I think I’ll stay this way forever. It’s a good way for me to be. It’s what I’m used to.”  
Penn looks at him, with those big, liquid eyes. “Yes, I understand.”  
Jerome thinks he really does. It occurs to Jerome to feel angry about it. Then, he does actually feel angry. Something strange happens: he decides that it doesn’t matter. He still feels it, but he tells himself not to care, and he no longer does. “It’s okay,” he tells Penn, “I forgive you.” And he means it.


End file.
